She hasn’t slept well in days.NeitherhaveI.Everynight is the same.Ilie here, rigid with restraint, while myDrakeclaws at the inside of my mind, demandingIroll over, pull her into my arms, and take what he insists is already ours.
“Bond her,”he growls.“She’sours.Shebelongs with us.”
No.
I grit my teeth.Shedoesn’t belong to me—she belongs to herself…to herGoddess…to the life she’s trying to get back to.
And ifIlet myself touch her again—really touch her—Iwon’t be able to let her go.
That’s the truth of it.
It has nothing to do with strength or control or even fear of frightening her—though that fear is there too, sharp and real.Ican still see the look on her face whenIshowed her myDrake’sshaft.Theuncertainty…the flicker of terror she tried to hide.
What would happen if she realized what it really means toBondwith aDrakeShifter?Ifshe found out that she wouldn’t just be taking me—but myDrakeas well?
I swallow hard, my throat tight at the thought.
She’d be fucking horrified.
And ifIpush her—ifIscare her—I’lllose her anyway.Idon’t want our final days together to be spent that way.Betterto let her go cleanly when the time comes.Betterto keep my distance now than risk breaking something fragile and beautiful between us.
Even if it’s killing me to stay away from her.Evenif every instinctIhave is screaming to turn over, gather her close, and tell her to forget the spell…forget the past.Staywith me.Marryme.
Gods.
I could almost say it.Thewords sit on the tip of my tongue, heavy and dangerous.
ButIdon’t…Ican’t.
Beside me, she moves in bed again andIhear a soft, broken sound.Fora moment,IthinkIimagined it.Butthen it comes again—a quiet hitch of breath, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone trying very hard not to cry.
My chest tightens painfully.
“She’s hurting.”MyDrakesounds accusing.
I know.Gods,Iknow.I’veknown for days.
I can smell it on her skin, taste it in the air between us.Thecurse is riding her hard, pushing her body into a constant state of need she can’t escape.
AndI’vedone nothing.Justlaid here night after night, pretendingIdon’t hear the way her breathing changes…pretendingIdon’t know how badly she’s suffering.
BecauseI’mafraid—not of her, but of myself.
Another soft sob breaks from her, quickly stifled, and that’s it—Ican’t take it anymore.Iturn over to face her.
The movement is abrupt, the mattress dipping under my weight asIreach for her without thinking.Myhand finds her shoulder through the thin fabric of her night shift, warm and trembling beneath my palm.
“What’s wrong, baby?”Iask softly.
She startles at the touch, her body going rigid before she turns her head slightly, just enough thatIcan see the shine of tears on her cheeks in the dim light filtering through the small attic window.
“I…I’msorry,” she whispers, swiping at her eyes.“Ididn’t mean to wake you up.”
My heart twists hard in my chest.Gods, she’s beautiful.
Even like this—tear-streaked and vulnerable—she’s the most beautiful thingI’veever seen.Herhair is a tangle of dark red curls around her face…her lips soft and parted…her eyes bright with unshed tears.She’sin so muchpain.
AndI’mthe one hurting her.
